Why can’t I find the missing piece?

Wondered what I missed, while life and death poured down upon me– the face of God had seemed to promise no time to wonder. For the first time in so long, all my biological survival needs were met, and I had a purpose; I was like a fetus, floating in nourishment, but having also awareness. My home became the womb. My house guest and I were the center of our universe. My purpose as both mother and twin to each of us was to feed and develop him and me.

He can be a difficult person–can’t we all.

He gets paranoid about my phone calls.

He has recent, severe brain damage. I have to be symbiotic.

I don’t mind the symbiosis, but if he insists on intentionally obstructing me more and more as his condition improves, as he always has, I will ultimately feel defeated again–and this will have proved to be not a last chance for him, but instead, just another lesson for me in — what, I don’t know.

The missing piece– I realized when I was wondering this morning– is writing in this blog.

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